Cry Me a River
by Keruri-chan
Summary: When Bulma Briefs finds out the horrible truth about her what her "wonderful" boyfriend has been up to in his spare time, she takes it upon herself to dump him. He's not needed; she will find someone better.


_DISCLAIMER: I don't own DragonBall Z. That privilege belongs to Akira Toriyama, but one day I will buy it from him!! Vegeta will be MINE!! *cough hack* Er... I don't own Cry Me a River either. That (privilege??) belongs to Justin Timberlake._

This is my second B/Y breakup songfic. The instant I heard this song I was like, This would be perfect for a B/Y breakup fic (Okay, second thought. My first was, What song is this?). I'm only changing some of the lyrics, so they fit better from Bulma's perspective (like 'him' to 'her' and 'boy' to 'girl' for example. Hey, it was necessary!). 

I wrote this from Bulma's POV (except for the ending paragraph ^.^). It was my first try at writing from first person, so it may not be my best work. But you never know if you're good at something unless you try, so I gave it a shot. 

~~~ 

_~Cry Me a River~_

~~~ 

"Ms. Briefs?" The words followed a timid knock on my office door. I glanced up from my word, frowning. I told my secretary _specifically_ not to let anyone in. I'm much too busy. I decided to ignore whoever it was. Maybe they would go away. 

The person knocked again. "Ms. Briefs? I have something really important to tell you..." I looked up once more. It sounded an awful lot like my secretary. But she knows I'm really busy. Why would she bother me? 

"Bulma?" The woman on the other side called again. 

If it _is_ Amaya, then it must be important. She knows how much work I have; she wouldn't bother me for nothing, I reasoned. 

"Come in," I called, placing the pen I held down on top of my papers. The door opened and in scuttled Amaya. 

The woman seemed nervous about something, almost on the edge of panic. She stood in front of my desk, fidgeting with her hands. 

"Amaya? Is there something wrong?" I asked. 

The young woman merely nodded, her eyes becoming wet with unshed tears. 

I stood and walked around the desk. I gently placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her towards one of the plush couches across the room. I motioned for Amaya to sit as I pulled up a chair for myself nearby. "Please tell me?" I asked gently. 

"I... I'm sorry!" Amaya cried, the tears spilling from her eyes. She placed her head in her hands, sobs racking her body. 

I blinked. "Amaya?" This was definitely _not_ typical behaviour of the normally tough and cocky woman. 

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice muffled by her hands. 

I reached over, gently prying Amaya's hands from her face. The brown-haired girl looked up, her face blotchy from crying. I said nothing as I waited patiently for Amaya to tell me what was troubling her. She swallowed and took a deep breath. 

"I... You know your boyfriend, Yamcha?" She began. 

I smiled. "How could I not?" I frowned then, remembering all the dates he had been canceling recently. _Work_ was his most recent excuse. 

"Well..." Amaya swallowed hard, finding her voice. "I think I'm pregnant." Her voice dropped to a whisper. 

I felt my face splitting into a grin. "Congratulations, Amaya! Who's the lucky father?" 

"That's just it," Amaya explained quietly. "It's Yamcha." 

_~You were my sun,_

_You were my earth,_

_But you didn't know all the ways I loved you, no._

_So you took a chance,_

_Made other plans,_

_But I bet you didn't think that they would come crashing down, no.~_

I could feel the blood draining from my face. "What?" 

Amaya nodded, fresh tears spilling down her face. "I'm sorry, Bulma! I should have told you. You should have known!" She looked down as she began to sob again. 

I sat back in her chair in complete shock. _Yamcha_ was the father of Amaya's child? No. That can't be... He's _my_ boyfriend!! 

"He doesn't know yet," Amaya said, looking up. "I'm so sorry, Bulma. Really, I am." Her eyes seemed to plead with me for forgiveness, and I nodded curtly. I stood, walking back to my large desk where my work awaited me. 

Amaya seemed to realize that I was angry. She said nothing as she, too, stood to leave. She crossed the room to the door, where she paused. 

"Ms. Briefs?" She asked quietly, turning to face me. I looked up, an eyebrow raised impatiently. Amaya inhaled deeply. "Yamcha doesn't know. I'd appreciate it greatly if you didn't tell him; I don't want him to know. I might... I might abort it. I'm not fit to be a mother." 

I frowned at my secretary, angry that she was carrying Yamcha's child, shocked that she was thinking of getting an abortion, but nodded just the same. "Very well. You may leave." Amaya nodded sorrowfully as she opened the wooden door and exited the room. 

The instant the door clicked closed behind the brunette, I broke down in tears of my own. I placed my head in my arms, leaning on the stack of papers on the desk. 

I can't believe this, I thought. Yamcha... I looked up at the picture of the two of us together. We both looked so happy, Yamcha almost ecstatic to have me in his arms. I recalled when the photo was taken; it was shortly after we got back together after our _last_ breakup. With an angry snarl, I slammed the picture down onto the desk, the glass shattering. 

I got up from her desk, pacing with fury. I wanted nothing more than to slam my fist into his scarred face. He deserved it entirely. 

And with _Amaya_! I raged. Amaya! Of all the people... He may not know about the child, but he knows damn well that he cheated on me. There is _no_ excusing that. And with my secretary! 

_~You don't have to say,_

_What you did._

_I already know,_

_I found out from her._

_Now there's just no chance,_

_That we could be,_

_We'll never be,_

_Don't it make you sad about it?~_

The phone rang from across the room on my desk, and I glared at it angrily, as though that would somehow make it stop ringing. I tried to calm myself as she crossed the room. I had no idea who it was; for all I knew, it could be a new customer. I really had no desire to snap a 'hello' into the phone at a potential buyer. 

My hand rested on the receiver for a moment as I regained complete composure. Then I lifted the phone to my ear as I sat down. "Good afternoon, Capsule Corporation. Bulma Briefs speaking," I said politely, searching for a pad of paper in case I needed to jot down any information. 

A laugh came from the other end. "A bit formal, don't you think?" 

My eyes flashed as I recognized the voice. I forced myself to remain calm. There was no point in exploding in the beginning and not getting my point across, except for the fact that I was outraged. "Yamcha, just the man I wanted to talk to," I said shortly. The irony of him calling at that time only then dawned on me. 

Yamcha chuckled. "Well, I'm here now, babe. So say what you wanted to." 

"Okay, for starters, _enough_ with the 'babe,'" I snapped, fighting to control my building anger. 

"All right..." Yamcha said slowly. "If you don't like it..." 

"No, I don't like it. And there's something I needed to ask you, Yamcha. Just when were you planning to tell me about Amaya?" 

Yamcha seemed to falter for a moment before saying, "Amaya?" 

"Yes, Amaya. Amaya Tanorai. My _secretary_." I stressed 'secretary' as though to show how I found out. 

"Okay... What about her?" He asked, trying to sound innocent and, unfortunately for him, not suceeding. 

I growled at him through the phone. "I'm not a fool Yamcha," I said, "so don't take me for one. I know you cheated on me with her. She told me. It explains a lot, actually." 

"I never said you were a fool!" He said, his voice sounding desperate. "I was never with... Amaya did you say it was?" 

I could hear the guilt in his voice. "I don't understand you, Yamcha. You say you love me, and that you want me, but then you turn around and go with someone else." 

Yamcha sighed. "Bulma... I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Oh, I think you do," I replied coldly. "I believe Amaya entirely, especially since this has happened before." 

"Bulma, I—" 

"Oh, and by the way," I said, cutting him off, "you're a _terrible_ liar." With those words, I slammed the phone down. 

_~You told me you love me,_

_Why did you leave me all alone?_

_Now you tell me you need me,_

_When you call me on the phone.~_

The phone rang again not two seconds later. I assumed that it was Yamcha, but the caller ID didn't seem to be working, so I really had no way to tell. With a sigh, I picked up the phone once more. "Good afternoon, Capsule Corpor—" 

"I'm sorry." 

"Yamcha, I don't know who you think I am, but I am _not_ going to keep forgiving you," I told him, ignoring the fact that he had cut me off. That really was the least of my problems right now. 

He sighed. "I—" 

This time I cut him off, for the second time in less than a minute. "No. I don't want to hear it," I said. "Don't waste your breath trying to apologize, because it will be futile. I will _not_ be persuaded into forgiving you again!" I hadn't even realized that I had begun yelling, but I didn't stop to take the time to lower my tone then. "I realize now that I really can do better than you. There are so many people out there who have husbands—_husbands_, Yamcha, not _boyfriends_—who have been loyal to them from the beginning. I, too, can find one of those men. And if I don't...." I paused then, wondering why I had even brought up the 'if.' "If I don't, being alone will most _definitely_ be better than being with a man who cheats on me." 

Yamcha snorted. "What makes you think someone else will want you for you, not for your money?" 

His words made my face go red with furor. "What are you saying?" I asked quietly, my voice cold and venomous. 

If Yamcha caught my tone, he certainly didn't let it bother him, because he carried on, just as ignorant and conceded as before. "What I'm _saying_ is, you're a bitch, Bulma, and no one will want to for anything other than your money." 

I was silent for a moment or so, my jaw clenching in anger. "I don't believe you," I replied. It was the best I could come up with in my fury. 

"Who do you think would take you?" Yamcha snorted. "Vegeta might, if ever he needs a good fuck." 

"You are _so_ lucky you're not here right now, Yamcha," I threatened, my voice dropping into what I hoped was an intimidating growl. "You really have no idea." He merely chuckled. "_If_ that _is_ the case, Yamcha, that I'm a bitch, then why are you trying so hard to apologize? Do you only love my money?" 

I heard Yamcha inhale, as though to speak, but he remained silent. I smirked. "Exactly," I said. "My point has been proven. 

"You will be the one who regrets this, Yamcha," I carried on. "No woman would stay with a player. Especially one who's broke." When he didn't say anything more, I hung up. 

The phone didn't ring again. 

_~Boy I refuse,_

_You must have me confused with some other girl._

_The bridges were burned,_

_Now it's your turn to cry.~_

It was a lonely drive home that night. Thoughts of Yamcha and his cruel words only made being stuck in traffic worse. 

I could feel another wave of fresh tears threatening to overflow. Don't cry, Bulma, I told myself. He's not worth your tears. You're much too good for him. Somehow, talking to myself was comforting, so I decided not to stop. 

Look at all you've done for him! And what has he done for you in return? Nothing. Nadda. Zilch. _He_ should be crying for me. He should... He should cry me a river! 

"You hear that Yamcha?" I growled rhetorically, "You should cry me a whole fucking river! I think I deserve it." 

The car in front of me inched ahead, so I, too, moved my vehicle onward ever so slightly. I was suddenly jerked forward, my car bumping into the one in front of me. I spun around in my seat, seeing that the man behind me had crashed into my car. It was only a fender-bender, but my patience and self-control was already tried for that day. 

Even though we were on the highway, I undid my seatbelt and climbed out of my car. It didn't look like we'd be moving anywhere anytime soon. The man seemed surprised as I walked towards the back of my car, inspecting the damage. It was then that he climbed out also. 

"I'm sorry, miss," he apologized. "I thought you were going to move more than you did." 

I said nothing, as I looked closer. There didn't appear to be any serious damage. Only a slight dent to the car; _his_ car, ironically. No wreckage to mine. At least not that I could see. I reminded myself to take a closer look when I returned home. 

"Does everything seem in order?" He asked, after I had stepped back from my quick inspection. I nodded, returning to my car. 

The man grunted in annoyance. "A bit anti-social, aren't we?" 

I turned to face him, rounding on him angrily. "You have no idea," I snarled. "You're just some poor bugger who ran into my car; you have _no_ idea what kind of a day I've had! Who are you to assume that I'm anti-social, hmm?" I instantly regretted yelling at him. I didn't know what kind of a day he had had, either. Perhaps he was also in a foul mood. 

The man blinked, before glaring at me. "Bitch," he muttered, walking back to his car and slamming the door. 

Bitch? Wasn't that what Yamcha had called me? I wasn't even aware that I had also gone back to my car and climbed in. Could it be true? I mean, this guy didn't even know me, and _he_ was calling me a bitch. 

"Exactly!" I said out loud suddenly. "He _doesn't_ know me! He doesn't know whether I'm a bitch or not. He can't judge me from just one meeting. Perhaps... Perhaps Yamcha doesn't really know me either..." I growled. Cry me a river, I thought angrily. 

_~Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Yeah, yeah.~_

My mother was waiting for me by the door when I finally reached home. She smiled at me as I walked through the door. 

"Did something happen at work today?" She asked me. 

I looked at her in shock and confusion. How did she know? My eyes suddenly narrowed. "Did he call here?" I demanded. 

My mother blinked. "So," she said with a smile, "something did happen. I had a feeling something did. Can you tell me?" 

I shook my head as I threw my keys onto the small table beside the door. "No." My mother looked slightly hurt at my bluntness, so I carried on in a more gentled tone. "I don't really want to talk about it right now." I turned towards the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. 

"Ah," my mother said with a sigh, "those are the words of a girl who's lost her love..." 

I turned right around to face my mother. How do you _know_ these things? I wanted to ask her. Ever since I was a child, my mother had always known when something had happened, good or bad. She had known when Yamcha and I had first begun dating, without being told, and she had known when I suffered my first heartbreak. I didn't know then that it wouldn't be my last. 

"He brought this upon himself," I said angrily, my eyes becoming wet once more. "He doesn't even know the worst of what he's done!" 

I ran a hand through my hair, as I turned again, entering the kitchen. My mother followed me. It was clear that she wanted details, being the gossiper she is, but I was in no mood to share them. 

"C'mon, Bulma," my mom said with a pressuring smile. "It's always better once you get it off you chest." 

I had to admit that my brain-dead mother had a point there. But I foolishly felt that if I kept it to myself, it wouldn't be true. I responded with a shrug, and remained silent. 

My mother came up behind me and placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. "Bulma." She no longer wanted to know for the sake of knowing. She wanted to know because I'm her daughter, and she wanted to make everything right again. 

But you can't make it right again! I thought in annoyance! I pushed her hand off of my shoulder, and said so. "This isn't a fairy tale, Mother," I told her rudely. "It won't end with 'and they lived happily ever after.' This time, the girl doesn't get her prince charming. So don't try to make it right, because you can't." 

My mother looked hurt at my words, and I regretted saying them. I knew that she only wanted to help. She didn't intentionally make things worse, though she often did. I sighed shaking my head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's been a bad day." I sat down in one of the chairs around the table. 

My mother smiled as she, too, sat down. "I understand," she said gently. "Please, will you tell me?" 

I nodded slowly, and told her my tale of woe. I vaguely noticed her nodding every so often, both in understanding and to show she was still listening. 

"And it wasn't like he just went on a couple dates with her!" I growled, my anger almost bubbling over. "No, he went and got her pregnant!" 

"Pregnant!" My mother gasped. She raised a hand to her mouth, almost daintily, but her facial expressions showed she was mortified. "Are you sure it's his?" 

"Amaya said there was no other. He doesn't know he's the father of her child. Apparently, he doesn't even know she's pregnant. She doesn't want him to know," I said. I had purposely left out the 'abortion' part of the story. There was no need to bring it up. I looked up at her then. "If he calls her, or shows up at the doorstep, you won't tell him, will you?" 

My mother shook her head. "Of course not." 

I smiled through my tears. There were times when my mother frustrated and infuriated me beyond belief with her stupidity. But then there were these times, when she was completely understanding, caring and so... motherly. 

My mother sighed. "He plays you a lot, doesn't he?" She asked quietly. 

I nodded. "I don't why he just can't be honest. If he doesn't want me anymore, he should just say so!" 

My mother nodded wordlessly, before standing. "I suppose I should begin supper. Vegeta's been training all day; I don't doubt he'll be hungry when he returns." 

I groaned. He will sorely regret it if he deals me his shit today, I thought. I am not up to it. 

I stood, too, and exited the room, leaving my mother to her cooking. 

_~You know that they say somethings are better left unsaid._

_It wasn't like you only talked to him,_

_And you know it (don't act like you don't know it)._

_All of these things people told me,_

_Keep messing with my head._

_Shoulda picked honesty,_

_Then you may not have thought it.~_

Over, over, _over_!! I repeated the words in my head as I tore up every picture I had of Yamcha, slammed every frame that held a photograph of his face onto the table on which it sat, or ripped it off the wall, pitching it across the room. 

I didn't know what had caused my sudden outburst of rage. I assumed it had been a mixture of everything, and the lack of black ink in my printer had simply put me over the edge on which I had been teetering. 

My foot collided with the desk that sat in my home office, and it fell to the ground with a crash, sending papers, folders and writing implements across the room. The cordless phone slid off as well, and the antenna snapped off from the impact of hitting the ground. 

I stopped then, breathing heavily, my fists balled up at my sides, and my face flushed with fury. I saw without really seeing, so clouded was my vision because of the anger I felt. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I hardly noticed. I seethed and snarled to myself, about the slightest of things. And somehow this calmed me down. 

I looked around the room, and gasped at the destruction I had caused. Not one thing lay right-side up, and paper, glass, and torn of pieces of photos littered the room. I sunk to my knees and let the tears come in heart-wrenching sobs. 

All this anger and frustration because of Yamcha! All this damage. All this pain. All because of _HIM_!! 

_~You don't have to say,_

_What you did._

_I already know,_

_I found out from her._

_Now there's just no chance,_

_That we could be,_

_We'll never be,_

_Don't it make you sad about it?~_

I wondered what I had ever seen in the cheating thief. I wondered why he couldn't be loyal. I wondered why I kept running back. 

The last question, at least, was one I could answer, and the answer was simple. Because I was afraid of loneliness. I always needed someone to be there for me. Someone who could comfort me and who could lend a shoulder to cry on when I needed it. 

But what do you do when the only one who can make you stop crying, is the one who made you cry? I asked myself, recalling a quote I had stumbled across many times throughout the years, and I realized that I had no idea. What _do_ you do? 

Yamcha had always provided the comfort and the shoulder. But how was I supposed to cry away my problems with him when he _was_ the problem? Him and his dirty, cheating ways. 

He'll never have a family, I thought with distaste. And with a jolt, I realized that I may never, either. 

I was determined that Yamcha would be the one with whom I would settle down with. Have children and have a family. But it didn't look like that was going to happen. Not anymore. Most woman my age already have families, I thought. They have children and loyal husbands. 

You're an idiot, Bulma Briefs! I yelled at myself. A retarded, foolish, airheaded idiot. I knew long ago Yamcha would never stop playing me; why did I keep running back to him!? Why didn't I find another? Soon I will be too old to safely have children. I'll have lost my chance. And it's not like my prince charming will come waltzing through my door this very instant. It takes time, and I have to find the perfect someone. 

I heard the door open then, and I glanced up. Vegeta stood there, his arms crossed and his scowl in place. "That idiot fighter is here to see you," he reported gruffly, taking in the room with hardly more than a glance. 

I nodded, not bothering to explain the destruction, as I stood and stepped past him out of the door. 

_~You told me you love me,_

_Why did you leave me all alone?_

_Now you tell me you need me,_

_When you call me on the phone.~_

It didn't even occur to me to question why Yamcha was here. He simply was, and I was too miserable to think of asking. Not that Vegeta would know anyway. Thankfully, and lucky for him, Vegeta didn't ask about my office, or about my tears. Not that I had expected him too; it wasn't like he gave a rat's ass about any of us, least of all me. Certainly not the feisty _bitch_ who always argued with him. 

The instant I thought the word, that degrading name, I regretted it. Yamcha had called me that, as had the man on the highway. The last thing I needed was to be admitting it to myself. Especially since it _wasn't true!_

I made my way down the stairs, going at a slow, half-run. I saw him sitting on the couch, back stiff, his hands gripping the cushion as though it were his lifeline. It was slightly amusing that he feared me. He had more than ten times my strength, not to mention the ability to fly and shoot Ki beams, yet he still dreaded my wrath. 

Why is that? I pondered. I didn't have much time then to dwell on it, however, because Yamcha noticed me then, and he jumped up. 

I stood on the landing and eyed him angrily for a moment before saying, "Who do you think you are, Yamcha? Coming to my house like this with no notice especially when I'm _furious_ with you!" 

"I wanted to apologize. In person," he told me. 

"You've already apologized to me, Yamcha," I said, "and I didn't accept it." 

"I didn't apologize in person." 

"That makes no difference!" I shouted. "An apology is an apology, just like a rejection is a rejection. What makes you think an apology in person is any different than one over the phone?" 

"Because... Because in person you can see the sincerity in my eyes," he said. 

It was a stupid statement, and I stated as much. 

"It is _not_ a stupid statement!" He argued. "It's true." 

"I see no sincerity in _your_ eyes, Yamcha. I never have. An apology from you is pointless. I've come to realize that. You apologize, and then you go to the same damn thing again. And again. And again. How sincere is that?" 

"I won't do it again, Bulma. I promise." 

"That's what you said last time. And I've also come to realize that some promises break. I've learned a lot from being with you," I declared, as though it were truly fascinating. 

"I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not the naive girl I once was. I can tell now that you will never be loyal to me, you will never love me for the person I am." 

_~Boy I refuse,_

_You must have me confused with some other girl (not like them, baby)._

_The bridges were burned,_

_Now it's your turn to cry.~_

"What can I do? Yamcha asked me quietly. 

"Well, you can cry me a river," I told him, a slight smile tugging at my lips. 

He frowned at me. "Will it make you start loving me again?" 

I sighed. "Yamcha, there is nothing anyone can do to renew my previous feelings towards you. I'm sorry, but you've crushed my heart too many times. I can only take so much." I was surprised that my voice was calm as I spoke to him, not loud and angry as I had thought it would be. "You can still cry me a river, anyway, Yamcha," I told him, smiling again. "I think I've earned it, after all the pain you've caused me." 

I had intended it to be a lighthearted comment, but Yamcha's face showed no cheerfulness whatsoever as he looked up at me. His face showed all the heartbreak he felt inside. Part of me was wickedly pleased by this. Now he would know all the suffering I had gone through so many times when I had learned that he was playing me, but another part, a kinder part, seemed to swell inside me from the utter despair on his face. Though he had put me through so much devastation, I didn't want him to go through the same. 

"So... this is the end then? For good?" He asked dully. 

I nodded, slowly, almost regretting the words that followed. Almost. "Yes, Yamcha," I told him quietly, mentally willing my voice not to crack with emotion, and doing a rather poor job. "This is the end." 

He was silent as he hung his head, looking at the floor. I wanted to rush over to him, to comfort him like he had done so many times for me, but I forced myself to remain where I was. I was still angry with him, and after all the pain he had caused my heart, he didn't deserve my sympathy. Not at the moment. 

_~So cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Yeah, yeah.~_

Had that been a tear that had just fallen from his eye? He frowned, watching him intently. His head remained bowed to the ground, in a manner that made me wonder if he was hiding something. Tears? It was possible... I was sure I had seen a glimmer of water on his face. 

"Yamcha?" I asked. 

I felt the urge to lend him my shoulder to cry upon, but fought it. The poem sprang to mind again. _What do you do when the only person who can make you stop crying, is the one who made you cry?_ I had made him cry, and I mentally berated myself for feeling so guilty. He had made me cry on countless occasions, and he never appeared depressed about it, until, of course, he found out I 'wasn't' accepting his sappy apology. I always did, in the end. 

He appeared to be composing himself, so I remained silent, not bothering him. I could recall many times when I had battled desperately for my composure to be regained, only to be interrupted, or harassed with questions or pleads. To be honest, it had often infuriated me more than the thing that I was regaining composure over. Can't these people see I'm having a crisis? I remembered asking myself, and it brought a small grin to my face. 

I watched as he inhaled deeply and straightened up a few moments later, appearing surprisingly serene, considering the blunt rejection I had just hurtled at him. "I... I suppose I'll be leaving then, since I don't really have anymore reason to stay," he said as he picked up his jacket from the arm of the sofa on which it sat. 

I made my way down the last couple stairs to see him to the door. There was no need to be rude. He was, after all, still a guest in my house, and I've always been a good hostess. No reason to stop now. 

I opened the door for him as Yamcha put on his jacket. Though it was spring, it was still considerably mild. He smiled halfheartedly as he reached the door. He reached out to open the screen, when I stopped him with a, "Wait." 

He looked at me once more, his eyes twinkling with a newfound hope. I gave him a small smile. "No, Yamcha," I told him gently, "I'm not accepting you apology, but I do have one small request of you." 

He face had fallen slightly when I had said I wasn't accepting his apology, but he seemed intrigued as to what my request was. He nodded. "All right." He said it almost hesitantly, as though he was unsure of what commitments I may ask of him. 

_~Oh,_

_The damage is done,_

_So I guess I'll be leavin'._

_Oh,_

_The damage is done,_

_So I guess I'll be leavin'._

_Oh,_

_The damage is done,_

_So I guess I'll be leavin'._

_Oh,_

_The damage is done,_

_So I guess I'll be leavin'.~_

"Can we still be friends?" In my opinion, it was a simple request, that required either a yes or no answer. It demanded no explanation of either choice. I would understand no matter what his decision. Yet Yamcha seemed almost appalled at my small inquiry. 

"Friends?" He managed to choke out. 

I nodded, looking at him curiously. "You know... Like what we were _before_ we started dating?" I told him, as though I were speaking to a small child. 

"I know what a friend is," he spat at me. "And what makes you think I would want to be friends with you?" 

My eyes widened from the verbal blow. "What?" 

"You heard me." 

It was then that all my excess rage that I had not gotten out of my system in my office exploded from me. "I have done _nothing_ to you, Yamcha! Nothing but treated you well and been there for you when you were in desperate need. I've allowed you to live in my house until you could get a place of your own, I've lent you money that you never paid back... I've often wondered what you've done with that money... Probably spent it on some cheap, two dollar whore." I shook my head as I realized I was getting slightly off topic. 

"_You_, on the other hand, have treated me like _shit!_ _SHIT!!_ And yet I returned! And now that I simply cannot accept your apology, for reasons unknown to you, I ask for your friendship. And you can't even give me _that!!_" I screeched at him in frustration as I slammed the door closed. It served no purpose, slamming the door, especially since he was still inside my house, but it seemed to reflect on my fury. 

I looked at him, my vision clouded once more by my white-hot anger. Was that panic on his face? Was he backing away from me in fear? Good, I thought. Let him feel the wrath of Bulma Briefs. Sniveling coward. 

"B— Bulma?" He stammered, looking at me, his eyes wide. 

As the anger seemed to drain out of me, surprisingly swift, I sighed. I looked up at my former boyfriend and apologized. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If you don't want to be friends, I understand. I understand entirely. I am a bitch, and it's a wonder I'm liked by any. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have exploded like that. Though your answer was rather... crude." 

He shook his head. "No, you're right. I've treated you so badly, and _I'm_ sorry. Though you won't accept my apology, I accept your offer of friendship." He smiled at me meekly, and I hugged him gently. 

"In friendship," I said with a grin. 

His smile grew at both my actions and my words. "And you're not a bitch," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I didn't mean it." I nodded, though I was beginning to think it was true. Hell, I had openly admitted it, something I never did unless I believed it. 

_~You don't have to say (don't have to say),_

_What you did (what you did)._

_I already know (already know),_

_I found out from her._

_Now there's just no chance (no chance),_

_That we could be,_

_We'll never be,_

_Don't it make you sad about it?~_

He sighed. "Well, now I really should be leaving," he said. I nodded, and opened the door for him once more. 

Yamcha rested his hand on the handle of the screen door, but made no move to open it and leave. I frowned at him in confusion as he looked at me, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "In friendship," he said, his lips turning upwards into a smile. 

I laughed. "It's relieving to know that we're parting on good terms," I said, "rather than in anger and frustration as I had thought it would happen." 

Yamcha nodded in agreement. "Hopefully our friendship will work out better than our relationship did." He seemed a little upset by the fact that our long on-and-off relationship hadn't come out for the better in the end, but also seemed to be looking forward to making the friendship work. 

"Friendship," I heard someone grunt from behind me. "Pathetic." 

I turned and saw Vegeta walking towards the kitchen where my mom was almost finished preparing his supper, trying desperately to ignore our shouting and talking. Just the whole conversation in general. I frowned at the "prince's" back. 

"And what would you know about friendship?" Yamcha snapped at him from beside me. 

Vegeta stopped and turned around to face him, and eyebrow raised. "More than you seem to think." 

"Oh, maybe you're right," Yamcha replied coolly. "You probably know more about how to _not_ make and ditch friends faster than anyone." 

Vegeta growled, and I could see his eyes clouding over in anger. I glanced at my ex-boyfriend. "Drop it, Yamcha. It's pointless. Haven't you had enough fighting for one day?" 

Yamcha sighed, nodding slowly. "I suppose you're right." Realizing he had won this argument, though by default, Vegeta turned and entered the kitchen, demanding his meal. 

~C_ry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river._

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river._

_Oh, cry me a river,_

_Cry me a river,_

_Oh, cry me a river,_

_Oh, cry me a river.~_

Yamcha rolled his eyes at the other warrior's ignorance. I chuckled. "You learn not to let it bother you." 

He shrugged. "I still don't see why he had to stick his nose into it. But you're right; I shouldn't let it bother me. It's his problem." Yamcha opened the screen door and stepped into warm summer night. His car was parked in the driveway behind my own. 

"Come by whenever you like, okay?" I told him. 

Yamcha nodded. "All right. Try not to let Vegeta bother you, okay?" 

I chuckled. "I've survived so far. Take care, Yamcha, and don't kill yourself training for the androids." 

He snorted. "I don't plan to." He turned, then, and walked down the driveway to his battered car. 

As he climbed in, he grinned at me and waved. I smiled and waved in return, watching as he backed out of the long driveway and turned onto the street. He honked in a final farewell as he reached the road and drove away. 

I entered the kitchen, where my mother was cleaning up after Vegeta's meal. She smiled warmly as she spotted me. "Did you guys make up?" 

I nodded. "Yes, Mom. We did." 

"So you two are going back out?" She inquired as she wiped the table. 

Much to her apparent surprise, I shook my head. "No, we're over. But we are friends." 

She smiled again. "I never did think you two made a good couple. Now Vegeta, _that's_ a man worth chasing!" 

"Mom!" I shouted, but I laughed just the same. 

_~Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me),_

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me),_

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me),_

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me)._

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me),_

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me),_

_Oh, cry me a river (cry me, cry me).~_

_So, although Yamcha never did cry Bulma her river, and they never did end up living happily ever after, neither one seemed to mind. Both were accepting of the fact that they were friends, and that was all they would ever be._

~~~ 

_~The End~_

~~~ 

I had to add the little semi-fairy tale ending on there, complete with the 'The End.' Don't ask why. I was just an urge. 

Well... that was long. 18 pages. O.O Well, at least that's what it says on my WordPro. Much longer than I had intended, but a fun write nonetheless. Took me a while to finish, though. My best songfic yet, imo, even though it was written from first person. I'm not that great at that writing style. I also joined the remaining seven stanzas into three because I was running out of things to write. -.-;;; That's why they're so long. Whatever. Sue me. 

Keep an eye open for my next songfic, Bura's Song, a Bura/Vejiita songfic. I'm thinking about combining all of my songfics into one fic, kind of like a songbook, but I'm not sure if I should do that or leave them as individual stories. Give me your opinion; leave a review or e-mail me at keruri@earthling.net. 

An Unexpected Love and Learn to Love will be continued soon, for those who are wondering. The edited version of Through Thick and Thin has already started being posted. 


End file.
